


P.C.

by SophiaGrey



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is a Bro!, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:30:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaGrey/pseuds/SophiaGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can't keep his feelings buried forever!</p>
            </blockquote>





	P.C.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing my own fic, I have loved reading all of yours!

The first time Clint noticed his daydreams were getting to be a problem was when he was at the range. One minute he was practicing with his bow, the next minute he was swearing because he had unconsciously use the tip of an arrow to scratch the letters P.C. into the side of his quiver. He hastily buffed it out. He packed up before anyone could see it, rushing past Natasha before she could question the flush in his cheeks. He made his way back to his rooms and closed the door before moving to his kitchenette to grab a beer. He sat down and examined the dull patch on the side of the quiver. "Shit...what the fuck Barton?" He asked himself out loud.

The last time it happened was the worst. He was having lunch with Bruce in the lab. They sat down together at an old work table and shared some small talk while they ate. The phone rang and Bruce went to his desk to answer it. Clint's brain must have went on hiatus because the next thing he knew Bruce was tapping the table in front of him, asking if he was alright. Clint just nodded shyly and tried to brush it off, until Bruce asked " Well... what were you doing to the table?"  
Clint jerked his eyes down in front of him. There, fucking carved into the table, was P.C. . Clint felt like he was drowning. He just stared at it horrified. Bruce got up to walk around to Clint's side to inspect the table. Clint quickly maneuvered his hands over the initials and stuttered, "Aw shit, Bruce...I'm sorry. I'll fix the table... I'm sorry...". 

"I'm not worried about my secondhand table Clint, I'm more concerned about you" Bruce said, continuing on to ask, " what's going on with... whatever this is that's...going on...". Clint sighed heavily and looked up at him. Bruce Banner was a stand-up guy. He was full of compassion for his fellow man and he also knew a thing or two about privacy and keeping a low profile. 

Clint decided to have a little faith for once and admit that maybe he was beyond helping himself at this point. That maybe a little bit of counsel was in order. He motioned for Bruce to have a look, and lifted his hands off the table. Bruce peered down and his brows rose as he took in the chipped varnish. 

Bruce turned and walked towards the lab doors. For a minute Clint was afraid Bruce had somehow figured it all out and was disgusted enough to just walk away. However, when Bruce got to the doors, he only locked them and returned to sit at the table. Clint relaxed slightly as he started to speak," A couple of months ago I came to the realization that I have...feelings... For someone...here...at S.H.I.E.L.D... Only once I knew how I felt, well...trying to ignore it has proven much more difficult than I expected." After a short pause, Clint went on," I get these thoughts...uh, like daydreams?... I don't know, but I don't notice it till it's too late, and sometimes...when I come 'round, I've kind of..." Clint took a deep breath and then quickly spit out," scratched their initials on stuff." Clint looked at the table again, lightly tracing his fingers over the letters. He was avoiding looking up, too nervous of what he might see in Bruce's face.

Bruce, ever the gentleman, didn't even bat an eye at the admission. Instead he just said, " Yeah, our subconscious brain can be bitch sometimes, huh?". Clint finally looked up at that. Bruce just kept right on going," Sometimes, the more we try not to think of something or...someone, the more it just finds a way...out. 

Staring at Bruce's calm features, Clint suddenly felt hopeful. A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders and he suddenly laughed, " Wow Bruce, I thought you were going to send me straight to psych for an eval." Clint sat up straighter and asked," So, what do I do about this, 'cause I would like to not keep switching to autopilot and leaving subconscious 'love notes' all over the place?" Bruce just smiled and said," Easy, just talk to him, ask him out for drinks. Stop trying to ignore it and deal with it in the real world, so your brain doesn't have to create daydreams to work it out."

 

Clint was blushing, a rosy flush spreading up his neck to move across the apples of his cheeks. "How did you know it's a him?" he asked. Bruce actually rolled his eyes at that one and said," We all go to the same meetings, I know the 'looking game' when I see it. Besides, those initials aren't too common around here." Clint looked puzzled, "What's the looking game?" he asked. Now it was Bruce's turn to sigh heavily, " You know, The Looking Game; you look at him when he's not looking and then he looks at you when you're not looking. You two do it at every meeting. Every. Meeting. Honestly, it's adorable. I would be content to let you guys go on like that forever. But, if it's causing you problems, not to mention the new graffiti on my table, well, I think you should probably do something about it then."

"He...he looks at me?" Clint questioned,"You know, like...how I look at him?" Clint was blushing again. It seemed as if Clint hadn't even fathomed the possibility that Phil Coulson could be interested in him, and that made Bruce sad. "Listen," Bruce said," why don't you go over to Phil's office and see what he has to say about it? You can't solve anything here in the lab, unless you're trying to go the love potion route." Clint stood up and shook his head," No, no potions. Listen Bruce, thanks for hearing me out. I guess it is time to take some conscious action for a change."

Bruce got up to unlock the door before putting his hand on Clint's shoulder and saying," Good luck Clint, I hope you find some piece of mind." Clint smiled then awkwardly asked," Yeah, about your table...?" "I'll take care of it." said Bruce. As Clint walked down the hall he turned and called back to Bruce," At least if Phil shoots me, you'll know why!" "I don't think it will come to that." Bruce answered chuckling.

It's a ten minute walk from the lab to where Phil's office is, and whole way Clint was trying to figure out what he was going to say. In the end, he reached Phil's door none the wiser.

His knock was answered by Phil telling him to come in. The agent was on the phone, but motioned for Clint to have a seat. Phil was wearing a black suit with a deep purple tie. While one hand held the receiver as he spoke, his other hand was distractedly move up and down the tie's edge. Clint's skin started to heat up. He silently cursed his over active imagination for immediately filling his head with lewd thoughts involving one agent Phillip Coulson and those slowing stroking hands. 

Two minutes later Phil was hanging up the phone and asking Clint, " Agent Barton, what can I do for you?" Clint wanted to say something smooth and charming. What came out of his mouth was, "You like beer?" What the actual fuck, Barton? he thought to himself. But the words kept pouring out of his mouth," I mean, you don't have to get beer. They have other things to drink there, you know, like...wine and...other things...I...I usually just get the beer though."  
Holy. Mother. Of. God. Please stop! But no, his mouth had other ideas,  
" and if you get hungry, they have food too! They make these burgers, they're fucking beautiful..." .

The whole time he was talking, Phil had just kept up his well honed mask of neutrality. When Clint's mouth finally fell silent, Clint thought, ' This is it, he is going to shoot me '. Phil leaned across the desk slightly, looking deadly serious and asked," Did you just ask me out on a date, agent?" Clint swallowed thickly, lifted his eyes to Phil's, and bit the bullet, "...yes" he answered. Their eyes stayed locked together for what felt, to Clint, like ages. Then, when Clint was about to apologize and get the hell out of there, Phil suddenly broke into the biggest smile Clint had ever seen on his face and asked, " What time?" .


End file.
